Midnight's Bride (28 page)

Also sensible. Before the pipers began to increase the rhythm of the tune, several men limped from the floor. Netta found it a most interesting dance. When the music became livelier, so did the dancers.

Their knees lifted high; their plaids lifted higher.

“Could I have more wine, husband? 'Tis quite hot.” Netta fanned her flaming face and avoided looking at the dancers. When she glanced sideways and saw Elise peeking between her fingers, she giggled. Mereck lifted a chalice to her lips. Cool water from the well. She looked at him, wondering.

“You dinna want to be sick on your wedding night,
mo cridhe,
my heart.” He nuzzled the soft skin behind her ear.

“Nay.” Why did her voice squeak like a mouse?

“Nay? Nay what,
mo bean,
my wife.” His warm lips moved down the side of her neck and pressed a kiss on the hollow there.

“Nay, I do not wish to be sick, of course.”

The music ended with Connor and Eric equally taking the honors. A strange little man came over to the table carrying a gaily painted jug. He spoke in Gaelic. Why did everyone cheer?

“Dougal has brought a gift of wedding mead,” Mereck explained. “We will drink it each night for the next fortnight to assure a son will be born afore the year is out.”

Netta's eyes widened at the mention of a son. “Merciful saints. I forgot about babes.”

“Dinna you want children, wife?”

Though his voice was soft, she heard worry in it. She nodded, but how could she tell him it was the one thing that made her think this marriage would work. She had always wanted a babe. Now that they would be bumping, surely they would make one of their own. He smiled back at her with sleepy eyes.

“Would you like to seek your bed now, husband?” She hoped he would. If he didn't, they would stay here until he couldn't keep his eyes open.

“It has been a long day.” His eyelids drooped even farther. He patted a yawn.

Why was Connor laughing? Mereck glared at him from near-closed lids. When her husband yawned again, Connor choked and put his hand over his mouth.

Concerned, Elise pounded his back. At least Netta thought it was Elise. Her eyes tended to see double. She rubbed them and blinked, until only one Elise appeared in her view.

“'Tis off to bed then. Mereck, give us a small while afore ye come bargin' up the stairs.” Meghan took Netta by the elbow, Brianna smiled and stood, and Elise bounded off her bench to follow them.

Unfailingly polite, Netta thanked Damron, Lady Phillipa, Lord Douglas, Brianna, Elise, Connor, Meghan, the widows and even the four squires. Did she miss anyone? She frowned and looked for Marcus and Eric. Meghan tugged her forward.

“Do ye think to dawdle the evenin' away?” Meghan's smile broadened as she made sure Netta did not trip on the first step.

“Nay. I'm trying to wait until Mereck is near asleep.” Netta's whisper was more of a soft bellow. When she heard laughter, it surprised her. “They are all sotted,” she explained to the women accompanying her. When the laugher grew, she craned her head and looked for the entertainer. “For truth, Scots are passing strange.”

It was good she kept her head about her, for when they reached the third floor, the women bypassed Meghan's bedroom.

“You have forgotten where I sleep.”

“Ye dinna sleep with us any longer. Mereck has taken the room next to Damron's. Bran has moved yer things to it and will serve as yer maid.” Meghan grinned at her.

Netta skidded to a halt and dug in her heels.

“Mereck is your husband, love. You'll share his room from now on.” Brianna put her arm around Netta and hugged her. “He'll keep you cozy and warm on our cold Scottish nights.”

What a fine idea. She was inclined to be cold at night. Her feet moved on their own again, and before she knew it, she was in a new room.

To the left of the door, a fireplace cast a warm glow over the room. She hurried toward its warmth and stood on the thick fur rug. She enjoyed the heat while she looked around her. Two chairs stood near the hearth. A massive chest sat to the right of the doorway, a battered sword hung on the wall above it. When someone scratched on his door, did he greet them with his sword?

A tapestry picturing a castle high atop a hill covered much of the wall across from her. Someone had placed her clothing chest there. A brace of candles illuminated a huge bed with forest green bed curtains. Closed shutters blocked the night air from windows on either side of the bed.

Her body cooled and she glanced down. She wore only her ice-blue smock. When did the women remove her wedding finery? Brianna asked her to lift her arms and keep them there for just a moment. The smock disappeared, and a lovely white sleeping garment replaced it. She sat in a tapestry-covered chair while Elise brushed her hair. A commotion outside the door startled her to her feet.

“Fair Netta, your husband is eager for your company,” Connor shouted before the door burst open. He and Damron escorted Mereck into the room. Eric and Marcus crowded in behind them, silly grins on their faces as they slammed the door shut.

Mereck spied his lovely bride in front of the bright flames and glared a warning at the men. They grinned back. As he put the wedding mead on the small bedside table holding a platter and two silver goblets, Eric winked boldly at her, drawing Mereck's ire.

“Come, we keep them from their bed-sport. Dinna forget to do what is necessary.” Damron nodded at the eating knife tucked in Mereck's belt.

“Come, now, the hour grows late.” Brianna kissed Netta's cheek and whispered, “Relax, love. Mereck will show you the way of it.” She made sure everyone left before she followed them.

Mereck stared at Netta. The heat from his eyes warmed her front like the fireplace did her back. She swallowed. What should she do with her hands? Cover her chest, she decided. The women had cut the bodice dreadfully low on the sleeping garment. Why, her breasts showed above the neckline. 'Twas indecent.

Lord in heaven! Mereck wanted Netta. The soft glow from the fireplace outlined her beautiful body. Though she thought she covered them, her breasts glowed beneath the gossamer gown, their pink tips inviting him. He indulged his senses, letting his gaze rove over her. He should no' have. Her softly rounded hips, and the black curls at the juncture of her thighs, stirred the need to touch her near beyond his control.

His heart hurtled blood through his veins straight to his manhood, making his ballocks painfully heavy. He willed his turgid shaft into obedience, for he tormented himself if he thought he could take his bride this night. Netta's wide-eyed gaze darted from his face to his hands. When they made love, he wanted her soft and yearning, not stiff and frightened.

“You are lovelier, my heart, than sun sparkling on dewwet heather.” Far from looking happy at the compliment, she seemed more uneasy. He was pleased she didn't place a high value on her beauty. He strolled to his war chest beside the door, unstrapped his sword and laid it and his belt atop it. When he again faced her, she took a step back, her eyes wary.

“Did you know Granda likened your bravery to that of Brianna when Damron first brought her to Blackthorn? I didna witness it myself. I was in Northumberland overseeing the rebuilding of Stonecrest Castle, her family home.” Reaching up, he flicked open the ties of his shirt, exposing his strong, brown neck. “You and Brianna have much in common. She was at Saint Anne's Abbey with her sister Alana. When she learned Damron was on his way to fetch her, she also escaped to Ridley Castle.” He shrugged and smiled. “We Morgan men are ill-fated to have the wedding before the wooing.” He sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots.

Netta eyed Mereck. Her forehead wrinkled. He didn't look sleepy anymore. He looked hungry. Perhaps she'd better feed him and ply him with more wine. That is, after she figured out how to do that deed and keep her chest covered. She couldn't stop blinking and wanting to yawn. Why are his eyes alert now? Is he no longer sotted? If she coaxed him to drink more wine, would he become drunkener again? She giggled. It didn't sound like the right word. Surely, there was one for that condition?

He removed his stockings. Blessed saints. He had beautiful calves. They were strong and muscled, with thick tawny hair covering them. It looked soft. She started to make a wide detour around an outstretched leg, but yearned to swerve close to brush against them. She caught herself in time. If she touched him, he might think she wanted to bump. She hiccupped.

Mereck stood, unpinned the large brooch holding the Morgan plaid and tugged his shirt free. Seeing his head disappear beneath it, she darted past to grab a wedge of cheese off the platter. If she could appease his hunger and coax him to drink the wine, he would surely fall asleep before he thought to remove the plaid belted about his waist.

“You look hungry, my lord.” Netta thrust the cheese toward him and misjudged the distance. She gaped at the yellow smudge on his chest. How interesting. The muscles on the left side of his broad chest tightened and jumped upward. Did the wounds healing there cause it? She blinked and looked at the right to see if that side was also defective. For truth, it moved in the same manner. His warm hand gripped her wrist, interrupting her staring. She watched, fascinated as he lifted her hand and nibbled at the cheese. Her gaze darted to his face; his eyes crinkled at the corners. Suspicious, she glanced down to find both sides of his chest moving. She shoved the cheese into his hand and pulled back.

“How can a man laugh when beset with such a condition?” she muttered while searching for the wine. There wasn't any. Only the wedding mead. It would have to do. She poured the wedding goblet half full, debated a moment, then filled it to the top. She used both hands to lift it, and turned around. Mereck had disappeared. What happened to him? He was beside the bed a moment ago.

“Over here, Netta.”

His velvety baritone sent shivers rippling down her back. She found him seated in a tapestried chair beside the fire. She took a deep breath, then took care with each step. For certs, the floor had faults in it. The wood was uneven and tended to sway.

Watching Netta scowl and make her way to him, Mereck's lips twitched. He took pity on her and rose to rescue the overfull vessel. He set it on the floor beside the chair and before she could resist, he lifted her in his arms and sat back down, holding her on his lap.

“I believe it will increase our enjoyment to drink it this way.” He anchored her with his right arm across her legs while he stroked his left hand down her tense back. Several strokes later, her muscles softened. He picked up the goblet and pretended to take a hearty swallow. After, he held it to her lips. She took a dainty sip while eying him with suspicion.

“Dinna be afeared, little wife. Afore we seek our bed, we will enjoy the mead and the fire's warmth.” Her muscles stiffened when he mentioned bed. She looked at the goblet in his hand, scowled up at him and then stared pointedly at it.

He cocked his head at her. “Do you think we should save the rest for later?”

She near jumped off his lap in alarm. “Now. We should drink it now, my lord.” She grabbed his wrist and coaxed him to put the cup to his lips, tilting the bottom so quickly mead splashed down his chin.

He righted the goblet before the rest of him became awash in mead.

Netta's spellbound gaze followed the wet stream creeping to the hollow at the base of his neck. When it overflowed there, her eyes widened. She watched it ramble down his chest. The hair curling there diverted it into tiny rivers.

“Did you know you are clumsy? Almost as clumsy as my sister Prissy. She also spills her drinks.” Netta grabbed the end of the plaid wrapped around his waist and patted the sticky liquid from his face and neck. She took great care around his injuries.

He forced his face to remain impassive. The raspy sound she heard while dabbing his cheeks puzzled her, for she leaned forward, squinted her eyes and stared at his chin. One lone finger came up and rubbed against it. When she felt the stubble there, she gave a pleased smile, looking like she had solved a great mystery. It must have made her thirsty, because she craned her neck toward the cup of mead.

“I would have a sip now, Mereck.”

Her sip was a mouthful. He allowed her but one.

Emboldened, she patted and cleaned him, paying attention to the smudged cheese. Drawing back, she inspected her handiwork, but scowled when she saw the hair on his chest flattened to his skin. She dropped his plaid, took both hands and combed her fingers through the hair there, fluffing it.

“You shouldn't be so greedy about your drinking, husband.”

When she hiccupped, she looked surprised. She squinted her eyes at him, as if the sound came from him. He could hardly contain the grin tugging at his lips.

“Thank you for instructing me, love. We have been wed less than a day, and already you have worked hard to improve my manners.” He put the goblet on the floor and snuggled her closer against his chest. She looked pleased over his praise.

He tilted her chin so his lips could nuzzle her neck and kept his hands gentle. It was sweet torment feeling her velvet skin. Warm spring roses and heather teased his senses, and he could not resist the urge to taste her.

The tip of his tongue traced a path up her neck to her jaw. His hands soothed the chill bumps that formed on her arms. Before she could draw back, he rested his lips on hers. He kissed her, plying his mouth across hers until she began to respond. Cautiously, he moved back a wee distance. Her lips followed, delighting him. He lifted his head and smiled at her.

“Do you think we may go to bed now, wife? I am sorely tired and so very sleepy, but I didna want to disappoint you this night.”

Mereck leaned his head back and covered his mouth, while he expanded his chest for a huge yawn. His arm tightened around her waist to keep from dumping her on the floor. His little bride's yawn was nigh as hearty as his own. Her eyes drooped.

“I'm most tired also, husband. Sleepy, too. But I'm never disappointed when I'm sleepy.” She smiled and nodded her head.

When he carried her to the bed, Netta didn't seem to notice. She was too busy yawning and patting his chest. He held her against him with one arm while he pulled off the bed cover and blankets and dumped them on the floor. He easily stripped her gown from her and placed her on the bed before she thought to protest. Fast as a fox, he pulled the sheet up to her chin and tucked it around her.

He pinched out the candles, then kept his back to her while he undressed. He joined her in the bed, but didn't move for a short while. Finally, he eased on his side to face her. He saw the gleam of her eyes watching him.

“Rest well, little wife.” He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. She began to shiver from the cold. He smothered a grin. He knew he should be ashamed for pushing the warm blankets to the floor. But he was not.

“Come. Share my warmth,” he murmured. He moved closer to her, and when he rolled her to her side and snuggled her back against his hot body, he thought she would bolt from the bed. Gritting his teeth, he willed his raging tarse to obedience.

Netta tried to edge her soft bottom away from him. He pulled her closer. He couldn't stop the groan that rumbled from his throat at the sweet torment.

“Are we bumping then, my lord?” Her whisper was near inaudible.

“Aye, wife, we are bumping.” He could imagine how wide her eyes must be when his hot tarse came in contact with her warm skin. He rocked his hips against her soft, sweet arse until his breath rasped from his throat. He gritted his teeth, but kept up his gentle bumping. Surely he must be daft to torture himself so? At last, he moaned again and went still. She rewarded him for his efforts with a sigh of sympathy.

“I'm sorry for your pain, husband. Meghan says it gets better with time,” she whispered. When he made a strangled noise, she made comforting sounds and gingerly patted his thigh.

His sweet, daft wife was asleep in seconds. He snuggled his pillow against her back, then got out of bed. He padded across the room to fetch his eating knife, then did what was necessary. Satisfied with the result, he went to the basin and pitcher of water atop the corner table. When he returned to bed, he retrieved the blankets from the floor, removed his warm pillow from her back and snuggled his Netta against him.

She gave a gusty sigh, grasped his hand and held it close between soft, warm breasts.

He gave an equally gusty groan that ruffled the hair on the back of her neck.

 

Connor snared Elise's wrist. “God's blood, lass, come away. You heard Mereck say Netta needed sleep so she can recover from last night. If you dinna come forthwith, I will punish you.” Connor's voice was stern.

“I don't have to listen to you. You are not my husband.” Elise defied him as she raced across the room.

“Yet. I am not your husband yet, Elise, but I soon will be. You must learn to obey me.”

Netta sat up quickly. Ugh! She was sorry she had. Her head was three sizes too big for her neck. And little pixies banged miniature maces against it. She pressed her temples and moaned.

When she could focus her eyes and saw Connor stood there, she knew it was worse than a dreadful mistake. But why did he look so surprised? She followed his gaze down, then grabbed the sheet and jerked it up to her neck. Even though she was now an experienced married woman, she blushed.

“Devil take it, brither,” Meghan scolded as she entered the room. “Ye should not be botherin' Netta with yer and Elise's squabbles.” She put her hands against his chest and shoved him back through the doorway. He laughed and walked away.

Brianna breezed in, leading servants carrying a tub and hot water. After preparing the bath, the servants left.

“Come, Netta. After you've had a good soak, you'll feel much better.” She put a robe around Netta and smiled in sympathy at the young woman.

As they led her to the tub, Netta craned her neck to look over her shoulder at the bed. Puzzled, she stared at the bottom sheet. After seeing her settled, Brianna drew a privacy screen around the tub and opened the door.

Mereck, Bleddyn, Damron and Father Matthew silently entered and watched Brianna strip the sheets from the bed. Seeing bloodstains on the sheet, Elise's eyes widened, her face blanched. Nodding toward the privacy screen, Bleddyn handed Meghan a cup. Quietly, Brianna and the men left the room and shut the door.

“As laird o' clan Morgan, I declare the union between Mereck of Blackthorn and Lynette of Wycliffe duly consummated. What say ye, Bleddyn?”

“As Lady Lynette's overlord, I believe her to be a true wife to Mereck. And you, Father?”

“I am satisfied.” Father Matthew grinned wryly at them. “I will affix a note to the signed wedding contract that I witnessed the stripping of the sheet from their nuptial bed. We have enough witnesses that I think we need not fear any man can contest the marriage.”

Satisfied that his wife would now be safe from her father's hatred, Mereck smiled.

Inside the room, Netta felt much better. After she drank the potion Bleddyn had sent her, her head began to stop clanging. Did all brides have such terrible headaches from bumping? She sighed and felt pleased with herself. She was a woman now.